The Perceptions of a Mirage
by Marie.Arts
Summary: What if the story was rewritten? When Christines life is destroyed she clings onto a tiny shred of hope. That an angel will fullfill the emptiness, and Hope can be the most dangerous of all. A dramatic and twisted love story. MODERN Erik/Christine
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone!

I happen to be obsessed with the Phantom of the opera! The book, the movie, the show! I just love it all. Although this story is mostly influenced by the book, my vision of Christine is as of Emmy Rossum in the 2004 movie, but let your imaginations run wild!

This story is basically the title: what if the story was rewritten!

It is modern, but it is very much influenced by the historical side of poto. This is a mixture of romance and drama/mystery. Erik will be very much like book Erik, so he won't turn sweet and charming any time soon.

Rated _T as a precaution, there will be strange situations and violence, but no sex and probably no swearing. _

Disclaimer: I sorrowfully do not own the characters of _The Phantom of the Opera_. Everything belongs to Gaston Leroux and other people!

What if the story was rewritten...

Prologue

In life there is always an object, which can define a whole story, an object that as soon as you see it you are flooded with memories. This object can be as small as a penny in the bottom of your pocket or as large as an Arabian palace. In this stories case the objects are, a rose as red as a goddesses lips, a chandelier powered by a hundred candles and a Persian monkey sitting upon a velvet cushion playing the tune to a lullaby...

You may think, how may these completely different entities link together to create an entire story?

Well, let me tell you...

The story begins in Sweden, just outside of the city where the lampposts end and the vast mountains surround you; there lived a little girl named Christine Daae. She lived with her famous violinist father, Gustave Daae, in a small cabin sized house with goats in the garden and tea on the stove and they were never bothered by neighbours nor things that go bump in the night. And when she was snuggled up in bed on cold winter nights, he would tell her Scandinavian fairy-tales, about nymphs and gargoyles and even angels...

One icy December night, the wind was whipping against the windows and the trees in the deep pine forest rustled loudly as if they themselves were shivering and Christine found that she could not sleep. So she politely asked her father, who was writing cheques at the time, to come and read her a story.

The story he read her was of the angel of music, who Gustave described as a tall man with a white cloak and beautiful golden wings. In the tale he came to children in the night and gifted them with music and one special girl named Lottie he gifted an angelic singing voice.

The fairytale of the angel of music had quickly become Christine's favourite, she would lay in her bed awake until the early hours of the night praying and dreaming that the angel would visit her...

He never did.

Gustave Daee's work usually involved him performing in evening concerts within the city to which he would call Christine's only godparent Madame Giry and ask her to babysit. Though Christine did love Madame Giry, she often argued with her father about her feeling that she was old enough to be by herself at the age of 11; Gustave obviously disagreed and demanded that she be polite and respectful towards her father.

After coming home from his violin performances he would send Madame Giry on her way with a kiss goodbye and watch Christine sleep, dreaming of the days when his beautiful daughter would become a successful opera singer. He had begun giving her short clipped lessons in his spare time and had seen a spark of talent in her young voice.

Gustave couldn't tell whether it was more his dream or hers, but he knew he wanted nothing more than seeing his little girl on stage amazing thousands of people.

He never did.

Gustave had become very ill later that year, he was in and out of hospital more and more and Christine had found herself being forced into independence. Balancing school and looking after her father made her feel isolated from the world, and her daydreams of an angel became more and more vivid.

When Gustave died, Christine didn't know what to do; she had no-one but him. She had no solace and she felt so very lonely. Once Madame Giry was informed, she told her to pack her bags and join her in Paris. Christine was just a little girl, she couldn't critic or judge. So when the angel of music finally visited, she could do nothing but cling to that shred of hope.

And Hope can be the most dangerous of all.

_**I hope you all enjoyed this little snippet!**_

_**Please review, I really appreciate them and reply to all!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys!**

**I'm really pleased with the response I got from the prologue of this story thankyou so much for being so supportive! I'm currently looking for a POTO beta so excuse the current mistakes they will soon be fixed my lovelies.**

**Anyway enjoy the first chapter and please review with your thoughts! **

**I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING POTO**

I stepped out of the dark blue BMW into the busy, cobbled streets of Paris. There was a split street either side of the opera house, on the right was a long French market which I visited as often as I could and on the left were a long line of pastel boutiques and antique jewellery stores. I smiled as the sweet smell of baked bread drifted into my nostrils; turning to glance at the bakery I was flooded with memories from my childhood...

_I grasped Madame Giry's gentle hand as we weaved through the crowds. I looked up every so often to find reassurance in her calm face. _

"_Christine, would you like a treat?" She said, her face lighting up slightly with a small smile, I had found that was the only kind of smile I would receive for the next few months. Sad sympathetic smiles which screamed "poor orphaned girl"._

_I nodded quickly as my eyes glazed over at the amazing cakes and pastries that were on show in the warm bakeries window. _

_We entered the toasty little room, and the bell on the door gave a quick tinkle to signal our arrival. She pulled me towards the counter and began fumbling with her bag searching for her purse._

"_What would you like today, miss?" the baker asked with a friendly smile as he looked down upon me._

_I quickly pointed to the small glazed apple tarts, their sugary exterior glistened in the warm light as if they were enchanted. I tried my best to grin back as papa always said to be polite._

"_One apple tart for the princess, and does the queen want anything?" The man joked as he slid the sweet dessert into a box. _

"_No, Thomas. You know as a ballerina I must watch my weight." She said briskly placing the coins into his large well worked hands._

"_Oh, Madame you know you look beautiful!" He chuckled and handed me the box._

"_Goodbye Thomas." She rolled her eyes and tugged on my free hand._

"_Come back soon!"_

I frowned at the memory, _when will things become simple again?_

After my father had died, nothing went back to normal. I stopped going to school and seeing my friends, instead I was tutored until I turned sixteen and began full-time training at the opera house.

"Are you alright, Christine?"

My best friend Meg, gently touched my shoulder, Her bright blue eyes search mine for any signs of discomfort and I simply nod my head and smile as sweetly as possible.

"Of course I am! It's nice being back" I mumbled, gripping my pale leather handbag with my left hand I begin a slow walk towards the elaborate opera house entrance. Meg and I had been on a two-week holiday in Austria, staying with some of her pen pals. We had gone hiking and ate a lot of local cheese and cured meats. I wanted to come back feeling refreshed and renewed ready for the autumn/winter season, but as I stared at the elegant architecture of the opera house the only emotion playing across my mind was fear.

Fear for the future mostly. What If I always felt this way?

So lost.

The theatre was busy with actors, chorus girls, directors and scene designers. There was flourishing of red fabric before my eyes and when I looked back for Meg she had already gone into the crowd undoubtedly searching for her fellow ballerinas.

I played with the button on my cardigan and pushed my way into the bustling of workers. If only my father was here, he would guide me... he would know what to do...

Or Better! The angel of music... _I know it's silly but I heard his voice, I know it. It was a humid night in Paris when I had first come here; I had leant against the window and wept until the early hours of morning. My eyes were red and puffy and my nose running, but I could not help the raw, empty feeling inside my body. When suddenly a beautiful tenor voice echoed hauntingly into the stony room,_

"_Do not cry child..."_

_I was completely hypnotised. _

_Gripping the cotton sheets of my bed, I whispered "Who's there? Is it you? Is it my angel of music?" Hope oozed in my hollow scratchy voice. _

_There was a long pause before the angelic voice said mightily "It is I, Your angel of music"_

_I hiccupped and wiped my tears away clumsily before scanning the room for any sign of movement or where the voice was coming from._

"_Did papa send you?" I mumbled my voice still rough from crying._

_Another long pause, "Yes, child, Now go to sleep..."_

_The voice then began singing the most graceful and lovely lullaby I had ever heard, and I was quickly lulled into a deep untroubled sleep._

I sighed, I was only visited once or twice after that summer night however I always felt the angel of music's presence with me. My phone beeped and I took my rusty old mobile out of my back pocket surprised it was still functioning,

_Meg: sent 11:06_

_Christine, Where r u ? We have a meeting in the choir room! Xox_

I shoved it into my shoulder bag and chewed the inside of my cheek as I tried to slide past a giant statue of Carlotta the prima donna of the opera house that was being rolled past by a couple of handymen.

Rolling my eyes I made my way up the spiral stairs just waiting for my reprimand at being late...

**Please Review It will make my week! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys!**

**I'm so pleased with the response I got for the last chapter that I thought I'd write this as quickly as I could! So sorry about how short it is, its filler just so you can get a better look at Christine's life before we dive into some action. **

**The next chapter will involve the new opera owners and Christine's audition... Which will be fun to write!**

**I'm sorry I didn't get round to replying to my reviews as I've been pretty busy, but please know that every review is appreciated and it puts a big smile on my face! **

**So thankyou to:**

**emeraldphan**

**Phanatic01**

**RedDeathLvr**

**Chapter 2**

I looked through the small circular window on the door to the choir room; all the usual ballerinas were there, carrying their change of clothing of their petite dancer shoulders. By the bored looks upon their faces, Madame Giry seemed to be lecturing them; most probably on the importance of being prompt for each and every rehearsal or practice. I groaned, _I've only just got back and I've already messed up! _I stomp my foot in annoyance at myself, the noise making a resounding thump on the old wooden floors; quickly attracting the attention of Madame Giry, her head snaps round to look at where the noise came from. _Crap! _I duck, crouching at the bottom of the door like a naughty child that's hiding from their parents.

_You're being such a coward Christine, _I tell myself as I shake my head, _Man up and get this over with; being late is not a criminal offense. _

I gulp and lift myself up and off of the grubby floor. I had always had a problem with confrontation. I would expect the worst in any situation, my large doe eyes would tear up and a red blush would flourish upon my cheeks in embarrassment. Meg could be so much more confident, she seemed to brush hurtful comments right off her.

I turn the heavy silver handle on the mahogany door, keeping my head down my dark brown curls fall in front of my now red face.

"Sorry I'm late, Madame." I say as politely as possible, Madame Giry was loving when she wanted to be but she liked to have a strictly professional relationship with her students to keep up her strict demeanour.

"Miss Daae, this is not acceptable. Do you not want to succeed as a performer?" Madame Giry asks, her sharp glare is pointed at me.

I fidget at the uncomfortable silence, before quickly lifting my head and pulling my hair back into a high ponytail.

"I do want to succeed, Madame. So let's not waste anymore of the lesson, Shall we?" I try to say as forcefully as I possibly can, but my voice cracks in the middle.

Her eyes narrow slightly, but she dismisses me with the flick of her wrist. Relief washes over me and I quickly join Meg who thankfully is near the back of the crowd out of our tutors view.

She sends me a sweet smile but quickly goes back to listening to her mother's lecture on the dances we will be learning for the next opera that will be shown at our theatre.

* * *

I stumble my way down the spiral stairs from the choir room, Meg's cheerful voice behind me is re-telling a funny story Silvie or was it Silvia had been telling her during practise. I nod my head and try to laugh in the right moments, but my mind is all over the place.

"Hello? Earth to Christine?" She pokes me hard in the back, knocking me out of my daydream.

"Ah! I keep telling you to stop doing that!" I mumble, rubbing my back.

"You were zoning out of the conversation, what other options did I have?" She says cheekily as she plays with her braid.

"I know, Sorry, I was just thinking about my dad. I might catch a taxi and go visit him during our lunch break"

Shock hit me as I realised I hadn't visited his grave in almost two months. I had been so busy during the summer with Meg I had barely thought of him. A strange feeling of guilt seeped into the pit of my stomach.

"Oh!" Meg stuck out her bottom lip and tried to attempt to do puppy dog eyes "I thought we were gonna go to that cute patisserie round the corner?"

I shake my head, "How about tomorrow? I'm not really in the mood today."

"Sure! Promise to text me okay?" She gives me a quick hug before skipping after the other ballerinas.

I smile sadly; _I am being quite the outcast today, aren't I? I wonder if they still look at me as the little orphaned girl..._

I shiver slightly at the thought and wrap my dark blue scarf around me in a pathetic attempt to comfort myself.

Making my way through the beautiful embellished doors of the opera house I squint as the now autumn sun shines into my pale face. After working at the opera house for a while you seem to become accustomed to its shadowy darkness and artificial light, to the point where you almost prefer it to the suns garish natural rays.

I hail a cab and slide into the backseat; my blue eyes look up and catch the drivers in the mirror.

"To the graveyard, please" I say trying to ignore is appreciative, slightly perverted gaze. He nods and tries to make conversation as he weaves through the Parisian streets.

"Its chilly out today, isn't it?"

I look out the window, my mood only worsening as my stomach rumbles with hunger.

"Yes, It is. Seems like summers officially over." I mutter fiddling with the buttons on my pale pink cardigan.

"It's going to be a long winter" He grumbles as he turns down the cobbled road that leads to the graveyard. I almost let out a tired laugh at the double meaning; _I don't think my winter will even end_

**Please review! Next chapter will be out ASAP!**


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